Five Phone Calls From Dean Winchester
by MaryCamille
Summary: The story of five different times Dean Winchester called Jo Harvelle. Set after season two. Rated T for language.
1. The First Call

Being a hunter wasn't a fun life.

There was a never-ending ache in your joints and muscles and there wasn't one moment where you wouldn't be able to sleep if given the chance.

Jo had learned these things after months of hunting on her own. Hot water was pouring from the shower head in her half-decent motel room. It ran down her shoulders and dripped down her small nose. It loosened her tight muscles and calmed her nerves from she hunt she'd just finished. She washed the blood and dirt from her knuckles, scrubbing herself clean, before she simply stood in the warm water.

It wasn't until the water ran cold that she finally turned it off and wrapped herself in a white towel. Jo tucked it in so that it wouldn't fall off and wrapped her hair into another towel.

She opened the small door that separated the toilet and shower from her room and stepped out, feeling the cooler air blow against her wet skin. She shivered in the sudden chill.

In her bag were a face mask and lotion, and she went to grab them. She placed the face mask tube on the counter and popped open the lid to the lavender lotion before squeezing some into her palm. She hit it against the counter to snap the lid closed again and set it back down. She rubbed it between her palms before massaging it onto her arms and legs.

After she finished that, she did the same with the facial mask, only on her cheeks, forehead, chin, and nose. Jo wasn't one to wear facial masks often, but she had just finished a tough hunt and decided tonight was as good a night as any. Her plans were to clean herself up, order a pizza, and watch TV until she fell asleep.

When Jo's phone rang, she rinsed her hands off quickly in the sink and walked to the bedside table to snatch up the small phone. Expecting it to be her mother, she flipped it open and held it to her ear.

"Hey," she said, trying not to move the muscles in her face while the mask dried slowly.

"Hi, Jo," a man's voice said.

Jo felt the muscles in her stomach tighten and she sat down on the bed, fearing that she might collapse. "Dean?" she asked, surprise painting her tone. She was exhausted already, and to hear the voice of the man she thought she'd never hear from again was a shock. She was also suddenly very aware of the fact that she was sitting in only a towel. Not that he could see her, but...

"Yeah." Dean was quiet for a long moment, and there was silence on both ends of the phone call. He cleared his throat. "So how are you?"

Jo scoffed, but instantly regretted it. It wasn't that she was trying to make him feel bad, she was just... stunned. She hadn't heard from Dean in months, and now he called, not because he wanted something, but just to see how she was doing? "I'm... okay," Jo answered honestly.

"Good."

There was another long pause.

"Dean, did you want something specific? Is there something you needed help with?" she asked curiously.

"No, you just kinda crossed my mind earlier. Thought I'd, ah, check in. Y'know, just make sure you were good," he answered in his normally husky voice.

Jo couldn't help the small smile she felt grow on her face, but she felt the mask crack slightly, so she tried to control her muscles and smooth her expression out again. "Dean, no offense, but since when do you care if I'm good?"

It was Dean's turn to scoff. From the time it took him to answer, it seemed as if he were shocked - maybe even offended - by her question. "Jo, I've always cared," he answered.

"Uh-huh," she said in disbelief. "But why the sudden interest? You've never called before. Why are you calling me now?" She knew she probably sounded rude, and her tone was slightly abrasive, but she felt slightly annoyed at the fact that he hadn't bothered to call until now.

"Did I call at a bad time?" Dean asked, sounding immensely confused.

She pulled at the hem of her towel and made a slight face. "No, it's a perfectly good time. So answer the question."

"I told you. You crossed my mind."

"Why?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" Dean snorted and his voice sounded more annoyed now than confused.

Jo was silent, leaving the line open for him to answer the question. She began to pick at her nails as the seconds of silence ticked by.

"I talked to Ellen, okay? She told me you were huntin' by yourself. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Told her I'd let her know," Dean admitted.

"Dean, my mom calls every day, and I answer. We talk every night. I tell her about everything except for the things that would make her want to come and drag my ass home. I doubt she would have asked you to call me," Jo replied coolly.

Dean was caught, like a deer in the headlights, and went silent again. "I told myself I'd make sure you were okay," he said, completely honest this time.

Jo smiled slightly, trying not to break the green mask that had hardened across her face. "Well, that's real kind of you, Dean. I'm doin' just fine." Her tone was nicer now and she let her straightened posture relax. "Are **you** okay?"

"I'm never okay, Jo. But I'm fine," Dean answered, as if he wasn't speaking confusingly at all. But Jo was used to him talking like that and she nodded.

"You wanna talk about whatever it is that's botherin' you?" she offered.

"There's nothin' bothering me."

"There's definitely something botherin' you. You wouldn't have called to check on me if you weren't worried. You never have before."

"I don't wanna talk about it, no. But thanks."

"Yeah," Jo said quietly. "Listen, I gotta dry my hair and find some clean clothes to throw on..." she started.

"Yeah, of course. Take care of yourself, Jo," Dean said slowly.

"Always do. Call me if you need to, Dean. Can't promise I'll answer, but I'll call you back when I can. See ya." Jo flipped the phone closed before he could say anything more and smiled proudly to herself, pleased to have been to one to end the conversation. She felt as if she'd won something, though she wasn't quite sure what exactly.

**You just hung up on Dean Winchester,** she applauded herself. **Way to go, Miss Harvelle.**


	2. The Second Call

"Once again, we're very sorry to hear about the unfortunate passing of your sister, Miss Robinson," Jo said comfortingly, softening her expression to just the right amount to get the answers she needed. "I know answering these questions hasn't been easy for you, but I appreciate it."

The woman, who couldn't have been any more than five years older than Jo, nodded, and a strand of her straight, dark hair fell in her face. She tucked it behind her ear weakly and attempted at a smile.

Jo felt bad for the woman. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Flowers and food from neighbors and friends filled the small house, and so much that it was probably overwhelming. When Jo's father had passed, friends had brought her mother Jack Daniel's and Johnnie Walker, not daisies and casseroles. Jo thought alcohol was a more appropriate gift. Different strokes for different folks, though, she figured.

Jo's phone began to buzz in her pocket and she smiled at the woman as she moved to retrieve it. "Thank you for your time," Jo said, and turned as the woman shut the door. She glanced down at her phone and looked at the caller ID. It was Dean.

Flipping the phone open, she held it up to her ear. "Winchester," she greeted him, sliding the small notebook and pen she'd been using into her purse.

"Harvelle," he said back, a slight chuckle in his exhausted sounding voice. Dean usually sounded tired, but not this tired. This was unusual, and he sounded as if he'd spent all day working construction.

Jo pursed her lips as she approached her pick-up truck, unlocking the driver's side door. "So, you ready to tell me what's buggin' you yet?" she asked.

"Nope," he replied. She could almost see his smug smirk on his lips.

Jo pulled herself up into the truck and shut the door behind her. The day in Ohio was a hot one, and she turned on the car quickly so that she could get air circulating in the cab. "Where's Sam?" she asked, leaning back in the seat. She tossed her bag to the floorboard and propped her head up with her hand, resting her elbow on the door.

It took a second for Dean to answer, but when he did, it was sarcastic. "Playin' twenty questions again, I see. Why the interest in Sam? I'm insulted, Jo."

"Just makin' conversation," she shrugged.

If she was speaking honestly, Jo was confused and concerned about why Dean had taken an interest in calling her lately. When Dean wanted company, he'd find it in an attractive woman at a bar. When he wanted to talk to someone about something, it was usually his brother, not a girl he'd met only a few times who was hours away over the cell phone. "You're drinkin'. Is everything all right?"

Dean laughed and she could tell that he was impressed. "How d'you figure?" came his voice again across the line.

"Everyone sounds different when they're sober than when they're drinkin'. You learn that after workin' in a bar all your life. You pick up on things. Plus, you keep pausin' to do somethin'." Jo began to play with a strand of her hair, shifting in the seat slightly. "So what is it?"

"Very nice. Johnnie Walker," he answered. And then, muffled, "Can I get another, sweetheart? Thank you."

"Black?"

"Blue."

Jo whistled. "Blue? Boy, somethin's definitely botherin' you."

"Right, because you can read people by the kind of alcohol they choose to drink," he said back. There was no doubting he'd rolled his eyes.

"Damn straight. Johnnie Walker Blue isn't a Tuesday afternoon drink. Blue's a Friday party drink or a 'Damn, I'm fucked' drink." Realizing that, if the woman decided to look out the window, she'd see Jo sitting outside her house and be a bit suspicious, Jo decided to head to the local bar. She shifted again and buckled her seatbelt, putting the car in drive.

Dean cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So, what have you been doin'?"

"Workin' a case. What about you boys?" she answered as she came to a stop sign, slowing and letting other cars pass before pressing the gas again.

"What kinda case?" Dean ignored her question smoothly.

"I asked you a question."

"And I didn't answer," he said simply. "What's the job?"

Jo pressed her lips together and huffed slightly. What were they doing that was so special he had to keep it secret? She would get him to spill, sooner or later, but decided to ignore it as best she could right now.

"Old apartment building was just renovated. Last few people that've moved in have died pretty grisly deaths."

"If it's old and newly renovated, I would guess it's an angry spirit," Dean advised, pausing, no doubt to take a drink again. "You're probably dealin' with a haunting."

"I know," Jo said, her voice harsher than she meant. She wasn't going to apologize for it, though, she decided. He probably needed someone to be just as abrasive as he could be back.

Dean chuckled low. "Well, all right, smart ass. Just tryin' to help."

Jo thought for a moment before speaking again. "All right then, Mr. Helpful, help me understand somethin'." Dean was silent, so she continued. "Why do you keep calling me?"

It took a while for him to respond, and when he did, his voice was lower and huskier than it had been before. "I gotta go through this again, Jo?"

Jo waited quietly for him to answer the question.

"I told you already. I care, that's all."

"Right, but what exactly does that mean, Dean? You say that to a guy, and they'll get it right off the bat. But when you say that to a woman, we got all kinds of meanings for it. So I'm a bit lost here. You care to enlighten me?" Jo was feeling powerful again, just like their last conversation. She felt like she was leading the conversation, and she hoped it would end up going the way she wanted. Because she wanted answers.

"Well, why don't you list a couple of the meanings, and I'll pick the best one. Y'know, since I don't know the mind of a woman as well as I thought," Dean said.

Jo was pulling into the parking lot of the bar now, and she put the truck in park. She stayed in the cab, though, and left the engine running, rather than getting out and going inside. A minute or so passed before she started to speak.

"Well, there's the 'I care about you like a sibling' one. That's the one where the guy likes the girl, but he thinks of her like a little sister. Like 'I'd never break your heart, but I'd beat any douchebag that did to death.'"

Dean made a clicking sound with his tongue. "It'd be a damn shame if you were my sister. I got a lot of kinks, but incest ain't one of 'em. Next."

Jo rolled her eyes. "That's disgusting. All right, well, the other I can think of would be the 'I don't know what I'd do without you.'"

They were both silent for a moment.

"What's that one?" Dean asked, finally.

"I think you can figure it out," she replied quietly, feeling a blush on her cheeks.

She pushed her door open and turned off the engine, grabbing her wallet out of her purse, before jumping out of the truck and locking the doors. Jo shut the door and headed into the bar.

"Any other meanings?" Dean asked casually.

"There're plenty more, but it'd take me a while to explain 'em to you." Jo hoisted herself onto a barstool and waved to the bartender with her left hand.

"Gotcha. Well, I ain't meanin' to be too forward. I think you're a good woman, Jo. I'd, uh, hate to see you get hurt. And I'd certainly beat any douchebag that hurt you. Haven't known you too long, though," Dean explained.

"Let's not make this awkward," she said into the phone, glad he couldn't see her reddening cheeks. When the bartender asked Jo what she wanted, she replied, "Johnnie Walker Blue, please."

"Can I see some ID?" the man asked.

"You still get carded? That's cute," Dean commented over the phone.

Jo flashed the man her driver's license and told Dean to shut up.

Dean chuckled. "So, Jo. I gotta ask. You fixin' to party on a Tuesday night, or are you just fucked?"


	3. The Third Call

**Hi, guys! I'd just like to say thanks to all of you for your nice reviews and helpful comments. I apologize that it took so long for me to get chapter two written and up, but I'm back now :) I've got chapters four and five thought up, but chapter three has been a bit of a struggle, so I've been thinking all day about it and needed to get it down before I lost it. So here it is! And I also apologize for the fact that I forgot to let y'all know when this is set - it's nearing the end of season three, right before Dean is killed and dragged to Hell. So here you go - chapter three. Thanks for reading!**

**And also a thank you to my beta reader, Rebecca. You've been a real help! :)**

* * *

><p>It's been two weeks since Dean called last. Two weeks since Jo spent an hour and a half talking on the phone with him as she sat on a barstool with a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue in her hand.<p>

Now she was staring upwards at the dark ceiling of her motel room. She could hear cars rushing by on the Interstate, though it was past one in the morning. Headlights shone through the one sliver in the curtains as cars passed, casting eerie shadows across the room. The ash tray on the bedside table rattled as an eighteen-wheeler thundered by.

Jo hadn't been able to stop thinking about Dean the past few weeks. After he called the first time, she'd been able to put it out of her mind for the most part, but this time he'd found his way into every thought. When she was working a case and asked someone if the victim had displayed any suspicious behavior, her mind wandered to Dean and _his_ suspicious behavior. When she drank, she wondered if he was drinking, too, and what he was drinking, if he was. Blue or Black? Was it even Johnnie Walker this time? Maybe he'd put down the liquor and picked up a beer instead.

But the thing that worried Jo the most was herself. Why did she care so much? Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?

She remembered when Dean and Sam had first stolen their way into the Roadhouse and how she'd clocked him right in the nose. The first time Dean had spoken, she'd felt her stomach flutter slightly at his voice. There was something about it that was just... sensual. You couldn't help but wonder what it would sound like to have him murmuring sweet nothings into your ear. And you _wanted_ it. But she'd fought back and kept her game face on. The part of her that was still a young girl that believed in flings had run wild, and she reigned it in. Jo was a woman now, not a girl.

When Dean had turned around, Jo had been stricken by his handsome features. They were all feminine in their own ways, but put together, they created one of the most handsome faces she'd ever seen on a hunter. His eyes were a striking green, but there was something in them that she'd seen flash - pain. And not just from the whack to the face he'd received. It was a deeper pain than that. One that could only accumulate over a lifetime.

Once again, she'd held back.

But Jo had worked (or watched her mother work) in a bar for her entire life, and she couldn't help but flirt a bit. It was how you earned good tips, she'd realized over time. Sometimes it was the _only_ way you earned a tip from a hunter.

She promised herself that she wouldn't throw herself at him, however. Not only was she not that way with men, but she also knew that it wouldn't be the right time to flirt too much with him - especially after learning that his father had died just barely two weeks ago.

She couldn't help but let some of her interest show when she'd asked him whether she'd see him around again. And she couldn't help the flutter in her stomach when he'd looked over at her and asked if she wanted to. Because yeah. She _did_ want to see him again. And she prayed to God she'd get to.

But it had been a long time since Jo had actually seen Dean in the flesh. The bit of a crush she'd had had dimmed over time, leaving her seeing him as only a good friend. Until recently, that is. She wasn't sure if Dean Winchester usually called his female friends to just chat, but it sounded unlikely.

So why did she care so damn much about this stubborn, alcoholic, handsome jackass? For the first time in a while, Jo couldn't understand her own thoughts and feelings.

She rolled over on her side and jumped slightly when her phone began to ring at the same time. Her heart thumping, she propped herself up on her elbow and reached for her phone, which sat on the bedside table. She pressed the volume button on the phone to silence it as she read the caller ID.

Why was Dean calling at half past one?

Jo fumbled slightly as she flipped open the phone. Her fingers were clumsy with exhaustion, and she held the phone up to her ear.

"Hello?"

She cleared her throat when she realized how rough her voice was.

"Hi, Jo," Dean said, sighing slightly as he spoke. His words slurred together just barely.

"... Dean?" she asked, highly confused. "What's wrong?"

He grunted a bit. "Nothin's wrong. Life is peachy. Peachy keen."

Jo flopped down on her pillow and rolled onto her back, sighing. "You're drunk."

Dean hummed slightly. "Hell yeah, I am."

"So what are you drinkin'?" Jo pushed her hair out of her face and let her eyes slide closed.

"Little bit of everythin'. What's that mean?"

"Usually mean's you wanna get pretty smashed. Tryin' to get your mind off somethin'." Jo paused. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean laughed as if she'd just told a funny joke. "Nah. Pretty freakin' far from okay."

A frown spread over Jo's features. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "You still don't wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Please don't apologize. I'm sick of hearin' apologies. But I wanna tell you, Jo. I do. I just can't. Not yet, anyways." Dean's voice sounded sad, and he sighed heavily.

"Where are you?" she asked curiously, shifting under the sheets so that she was lying on her right side now.

His answer was simple: "In the Impala."

Suddenly, she was a bit more worried. "Not drivin'?"

"Hell no. I'm outside Bobby's."

Jo breathed a sigh of relief. "You're gonna drink yourself to death if you keep drinkin' at this rate," she joked.

"I don't think it's the drinkin' that's gonna kill me," he replied seriously. An awkward silence followed his words.

The seconds ticked on, both hunters waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Dean broke the silence.

"Can I tell you somethin'?" he murmured.

"Anything," she replied without hesitation. She chastised herself for being so eager.

Dean paused again to think over his words. "I'm worried." Before Jo could ask, he elaborated. "'Bout dyin'. I mean, what d'you think Hell's like?"

Jo furrowed her brow in confusion. "I'm sure you're not gonna end up in Hell, Dean. You're a good guy."

The other end of the line was silent.

Jo spoke again. "'Sides, why you so worried about all that? You probably got a few more good years, at least."

He was quiet again. "Just wonderin', I guess..." She heard the sound of him clearing his throat on the other end of the line. "Another thing."

"Sure," she replied.

"When I told you that... Well, when I said... The other day, I told you I, uh..."

Jo chuckled a bit. "Spit it out, Winchester." She could feel warmth growing in her cheeks.

"All right. Ah... When I told you I thought you were a good woman, Jo, I meant it. Every word. You're brave. And you're determined. And a looker." He whistled. "Damn, are you a looker."

"Remind me to clock you one when I see you again." Jo covered her face with her free hand and felt her cheeks blaze. "But thanks. I'll make sure to leave out the looker part when I tell my mama."

"Thank you," he chuckled slightly. "Anyways, I just... figured I should tell you that. In case somethin' happens or whatever."

"Why do you keep talkin' like somethin's gonna happen, Dean?" Jo asked. She couldn't help the bit of worry that colored her tone.

Silence again.

"Were you doin' somethin' before I called?" Dean asked.

Jo sighed. "Sleepin'," she lied. She wasn't about to tell him that she'd been lying awake in bed, plagued by thoughts of him at one in the morning, when he'd called.

"Sorry. I'll let you get back to your pillow."

"That's all right. I'll talk to you later."

"Take care of yourself, Jo."

"Always do."

The line clicked and the call ended. The room was silent again, except for the rumbling of trucks on the road. She twirled the phone in her hand.

Every time she talked to Dean, it seemed like things were only getting worse. Shouldn't things be getting better, not worse? Things were supposed to get better over time.

But whatever Dean was worried about was boiling and stewing angrily, and she felt like there was no way it was going to get better in the slightest.

And the way he talked about Hell... As if he knew it was coming...

Well, that worried Jo the most.


End file.
